


The Tour

by elderwitty, squidgie



Series: Citrus Hill [4]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, Citrus Hill, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-11
Updated: 2011-11-11
Packaged: 2017-10-25 22:56:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/275768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elderwitty/pseuds/elderwitty, https://archiveofourown.org/users/squidgie/pseuds/squidgie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'verse summary: AU.  Rodney was bad at work, and has been exiled by SGC to a tiny town outside of Gainesville, Florida.  This is the story of Rodney's time in Citrus Hill, a handsome guy named John who he meets under less-than-optimal circumstances, and how he learns a bit about life in the South.</p><p>Story summary:  John and Rodney spend time together getting to know each other, and John takes Rodney on a tour around the greater Citrus Hill area.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Tour

John and Rodney wipe the evidence of their sexcapade off the car before retiring to the house.  They spend the next couple of hours talking, touching, and necking like teenagers.  When the sunset starts slanting into their eyes, the now-hungry pair goes scrounging for sustenance.  "Not much to choose from, is there?" John calls from the pantry.

"Not really, no," Rodney replies sheepishly.  "I, um..."

John pokes his head around the doorjamb like a big spiky prairie dog.  "What?"

"Well, I wasn't sure when you were coming back.  So I haven't left the house since…well, since Thursday?"

"What happened Thursday?"

"I, umm...  I tried to go downtown.  To see if I could find you."  Rodney risks a quick glance at John before dropping his gaze to the floor.  "And I got lost."

"It's just as well.  I wasn't there anyway.  Hospital," John flaps his sling and ducks back into the pantry, grabbing a box of dry pasta and a couple of cans.   After dumping them next to the stove, he throws his good arm across Rodney's broad shoulders and kisses him for a good long while before abruptly pulling back.  "Crap!  Jethro!"

A scowl flashes to life on Rodney's face as John starts for the door.  " _Jethro_?"

"Yeah, I left him in the truck.  Gimme a sec."  John barrels out to the driveway, where Rodney watches him dig around on the floorboard, perplexed until he hears a deep _woof_.  John finally eases an ancient-looking hound out of the truck and toward the house.

"This is Jethro, the bloodhound," John says as they shamble in.  (Of course, John's mutt moves just like him, Rodney thinks.)  He scritches behind the dog's ears, explaining, "He belongs to the Pembertons.  They...   they're like family to me."  John details their importance in his upbringing, finishing with the dream vacation they're finally taking, which is why he's watching Jethro.

John's talk of his chosen family warms something in Rodney's core, so he puts his uneasiness with dogs aside to reach down and pat the animal.  "You, uh?  You want to stay over?" he hesitantly asks, breathing a sigh of relief when John beams at him and says, "Oh, yeah.” 

Reminded of his babysitting duties by Jethro slumping across his feet, John adds, "I need to find him something to eat, though, and a place to sleep."

Rodney digs in the freezer and comes up with a package of ground beef.  "This do? It's a week past its 'Use by’ date, but I doubt he'll mind."

"Jethro, ol' buddy, you'll be eatin' like a king tonight!"

An improvised bed for Jethro made up in the kitchen and meat defrosting in the microwave, Rodney and John return to the living room.  They start out talking, but end up making out again -- until the microwave beeps and Jethro howls in support.  John startles up from where he's lying on Rodney, tweaking a nipple as he stands.  "Come on," he says, pulling a kiss-dazed Rodney off the couch.  "Time to make dinner."

Rodney gives John's ass a solid pinch in payback for the sting in his nipple.  Once at the stove, Rodney watches as John gets into a rhythm.  "Wow," he marvels.  "You know how to cook!" 

John winks, his good hand a blur as he stirs pasta in one pot, seasons the sauce in another, and browns Jethro's ground beef in a third.  "Growing up without a mother, and with a father who was almost never home...I learned to make do.  And," indicating the disparate ingredients, "I learned to get creative."  He lifts the wooden spoon to Rodney's lips so he can taste the sauce.

"Hot _and_ a good cook," Rodney says out loud, and ' _SCORE_!' to himself (though his expression gives him away).  "Cadman was right.  You _are_ a good catch."

John leans in to lick a dab of sauce from Rodney's upper lip, which leads to some very thorough kissing, tongues sliding against each other and fingers grabbing at clothes.  The _splut_ of sauce splashing over forces them apart.  John turns down the heat and Rodney collects plates for them and a bowl for Jethro.  As he dishes up the food, John asks, "Do you have any red wine?"

"Nope, all out," he admits, grabbing a couple of bottles from the refrigerator.  "I've got beer, though."

"You don't have much of anything in that pantry of yours," John says.  "We can hit the Piggly Wiggly tomorrow if you want.  Now sit down and eat up," he says, handing Rodney a plate.  "You're gonna need your strength."  He waggles his eyebrows lecherously, making Rodney snort beer out his nose.

~*~*~

John wakes up first the next morning.  He leaves Rodney well cocooned in covers thoroughly jumbled by their sexual gymnastics, hearing only a snuffle as he slides off the bed.  He starts a pot of coffee, grabs the lone box of cereal left in the pantry - some healthy granola (undoubtedly why it's not gone) – and snags the milk on his way to the table.  He upends the carton while basking in afterglow, but his reverie is cut short by a **plooping** sound and the overwhelming reek of sour milk.  He almost gags at the smell, and the chunks may have put him off cereal forever.

"Gross," he chokes, lunging to tip the mess down the garbage disposal.  He hits the switch to destroy the stench and decides to stick to coffee (Rodney's food situation being too risky to do otherwise).  As the grating roar dies away he hears something (a giggle?) from the bedroom, and wonders if the noise woke Rodney.  He picks up the glowing green football thing from the windowsill, absently tossing it as he listens.

There it is again, followed by a breathy "John" and more giggling.  A full-throated “ ** _BAH_!” ** makes him jump, spilling the toy back onto the ledge.  The indignant "What in the--" almost sends him to the rescue, but Rodney's already stomping toward the kitchen with Jethro close behind.  He stabs a finger toward the dog.  "That...MENACE…" he starts, before the sight of John derails him.  He scrubs a hand through his hair and tries not to share his morning breath as he kisses John.  "You made coffee?"

"Yeah."  Rodney misses his reply under the clatter of filling a large mug.  "What did Jethro do?"

Rodney takes a deep drink before answering.  "Stupid dog.  Dogs are just so... Cats, now," he gestures broadly with his mug, sloshing the rich brown liquid, "Cats are _great_ pets."

Curiosity overcoming his caution, John repeats, "What did he _do_?"  Rodney answers after a long pause, mumbling red-faced into his coffee.   "I'm sorry?" John prompts.

"He licked my toes," Rodney tells the bottom of his mug loudly, startling a donkey-laugh out of John.  "It's not funny!" he objects, though deep down he knows it really is.   "I thought maybe you had a foot fetish, and it was _you_ waking me up."

"Foot fetish?" John gasps out between gusts of laughter.

"Yeah, well... You could.  _I_ have one now," Rodney admits.

" _Really_?!" John replies, quirking an eyebrow towards his unbelievable bedhead (it's even more unruly before the daily weedwhacking, apparently) and invading Rodney's personal space with a leer.

Rodney, flashing back to yesterday's tryst in the garage, sputters, " _YOU_ try getting fucked by a hot guy wearing little more than boots, and then tell _me_ it doesn't inspire a kink!"

John smiles impishly.  "Well, now," he says, moving even closer and planting a kiss on Rodney's nose.  He nuzzles Rodney's ear.  "You got a pair of boots?"

~*~*~

After breakfast (aka coffee), post-breakfast sex, shower, mid-shower groping, post-shower kissing, and a gathering of self-restraint (to allow postponement of the post-shower sex 'til they get back from the store), they drive to the Piggly Wiggly for some much needed supplies.  Rodney picks out his 'absolute basics' and John smirks as a variety of junk food goes into the cart.  When Rodney loads up on Hostess products, John teases, "Ding Dongs, Rodney?"

"Yes, well... They're essential."

"So, you're saying they're a food group?" John asks skeptically.

"They've got flour and sugar and...and essential fats..."  Rodney trails off, flustered.

"Okay, but we're getting fruit, too."  Before Rodney can muster his response, John adds, "I know, I know, no citrus.  How about mangos?" He picks a ripe pair and deposits them in the cart.  "And pineapple, guava, strawberries..."

"We already have strawberries."  John's at a loss until Rodney pulls up a red and white package with a flourish.  "Little Debbie Strawberry Mini Poundcakes."

"Ugh," is all John can answer.  Rodney smiles smugly and drops the box back into the basket.  He picks up a package of shortcakes – the ones that are never far from the strawberries in any produce section.   "Or, if you want, we could get _these_ instead and you can make me the real thing."

John considers briefly before declaring, "We'll need whipped cream," and aiming the cart towards the frozen food section.  When Rodney reaches for a container, he objects.  "No.  Get the big one."

Rodney looks at him quizzically, so John whispers conspiratorially, "I have ideas for the leftovers."  He pinches Rodney's butt and watches a blush as red as the berries rise in his cheeks.  John manages to make him blush even more furiously by plopping two boxes of condoms and an industrial-sized bottle of lube in the basket as they pass the Pharmacy counter.

~*~*~

John points out some sights on the way back, with Rodney nodding appreciatively.  When he notices Rodney isn't questioning him at all, he decides to have a little fun.  Stopping under an ancient tree, John says, "This is the oldest Southern Live Oak in Florida, and it's covered by some of the oldest Spanish moss in the state."

Rodney looks up through the festooned canopy, appreciating the tree's moss-laden majesty, then searches around the base.  "Where's the marker?"

"Marker?"

"You know.  There's usually a placard or something with all the relevant information about the site."

John thinks quickly and blurts out, "Budget cuts."

"Budget cuts?"   

"Yeah," John declares authoritatively as he pulls back on the road, turning to hide the grin he can't suppress.

~*~*~

Days pass lazily, and they spend more time touching each other than not.  John does have to attend a few meetings at City Hall and, ten days after his tussle with gravity, makes a visit to his doctor where he _finally_ gets the okay to ditch the annoying sling.  He leaves Jethro in Rodney's care, which is just fine with one of them.  The hound seems to sense that Rodney isn't a dog person and stays glued to his side; usually right underfoot, but never more than a few steps away.  He mostly keeps quiet, except during Rodney's conference calls with the SGC, when he grunts and barks with abandon.  More than once, he headbutts the bathroom door open and splays himself dramatically at Rodney's feet.

When the weekend rolls around, they stay up late watching bad television and sleep in, happily getting used to the feel of each other in the night.  As has become usual, John wakes up first, curled around his snuffling boyfriend.  He rubs Rodney's shoulders, coaxing him awake.  "You're drooling," he says matter-of-factly as Rodney's eyes flutter open.

Rodney fidgets.  "Yeah, well …   _you're_ poking me!"  He reels John in to claim a kiss - morning breath be damned.  "What do you want to do today?"  John grabs a handful of ass cheek to indicate his preference.  " _Besides_ that, you horny, horny idiot."

"Excuse me?"

"Did it _sound_ like I was complaining?" Rodney retorts, grabbing a palmful of derriere for himself.

Over coffee and breakfast John insists on a day of sightseeing, to give Rodney more appreciation for the area.  They climb into the F150, settle Jethro at Rodney's feet, and drive around the greater Citrus Hill and Gainesville area with John pointing out sites of interest – legitimate and not.  They walk around [a civil war reenactment site](http://www.gainesville.com/article/20100211/ARTICLES/100219957) (legitimate), visit the [Dudley Family "Cracker" Farm](http://www.visitgainesville.com/attractions/item.aspx?id=28), now a state park (legitimate), and see the southernmost point of the Underground Railroad (fake; it was just a farmhouse abandoned after the great boll weevil infestation of 1924), before ending up at [Devil's Millhopper State Park](http://www.floridastateparks.org/devilsmillhopper/), where they descend to the floor of the sinkhole.  John insists on going last as they climb back up the steps.   (The park _is_ real, but he brought them here for the ass-ogling opportunity.)  He snorts at Rodney's assertion that the bottom is 'a quicksand quagmire!' and dismisses complaints about hiking in the Florida heat, since Jethro slows them down to a very non-taxing pace.

"I don't see what you're moaning about.  It was shady almost the whole way.  Besides, I'm the one who had to deal with _this_ monster."  John wrestles with Jethro's collar and chuckles to see Rodney petting him fondly.

"Oh, yes, He-man.   Your load is great," Rodney deadpans.

"Shuddup, McKay."  John lets Rodney get his seatbelt on before urging Jethro in.  "Kinda late, but... Lunch?" he asks, watching Rodney open a Little Debbie snack cake and munch happily, before rounding the truck and climbing in.

Rodney's answer is drowned out by a bloodcurdling howl.  They stare at Jethro, who's abandoned his usual lethargy to jump up and plant his feet on the seat between Rodney's legs.  "What?"

Jethro looks at him, then at the snack cake.  Back to him, back to cake.  Him, cake.  Him, cake - until Rodney realizes, "You want some of this?"  Jethro agrees with a gruff bark.  "Are dogs allowed-"  Another howl reverberates in the small space.  Rodney hastily breaks the remaining cake in two.  "Okay! Okay!  Here!"  Jethro leaps up, snatching and chewing in one fluid motion before settling into the footwell, exhausted by his brief burst of activity. 

"Stupid dog," Rodney says, but reaches down to scratch Jethro's ears, happy until Jethro pokes a wet muzzle into his hand.  He snatches it back with a disgusted cry and wipes the drool on his pant leg.  "So, where's lunch?"

"High Springs Tea Room.  'S up north a few miles."

"High Springs..."

"...Tea Room.  Yeah, Rodney."

"Aren't we…," Rodney motions between them, "a little under-dressed for high tea?"  He gestures to his pants, "What with the dog slobber?"

"'S just the name.  Trust me, McKay.  You'll like it." 

Rodney contemplates _luncheon_ at the Tea Room, picturing doilies and crustless watercress sandwiches, but reconsiders when they pull into a shady spot in front of the restaurant (if you could call it that).  He looks around at the other vehicles while John gets Jethro situated in his well-padded spot in the truck bed.  "It's nothing but _bikers_ ," he hisses.

"There're some trucks here, too." John hooks a thumb toward the full-size trucks filling the back parking lot – every one an American make - most with gun racks or rust spots, and a good portion sporting both.  He motions for Rodney to go first, and again follows him up a set of steps.

Rodney gets through the doorway and stops abruptly, barely noticing when John bumps into him.  There are several grunts and welcomes, but Rodney ignores them.  "I think I might like this place."  John follows his eyeline to the huge sign beyond the darts tournament area.  


  


   
   
John can't contain his delighted smile.  "That sign is wrong about one thing, though."  He steers them to a prime booth, situated where he can watch spring training on the television over the bar while Rodney faces a second widescreen showing hockey.

Rodney is crestfallen.  "What?"

"A couple of weeks ago - Malbert figured out how to fry beer."

~*~*~

Stuffed with nachos, onion rings, burgers, fries, and ice cream (all fried - the fries, twice), the boys stagger down to the parking lot.  After Jethro gets walked (and the bushes get watered), with twilight nearly upon them, they make their sated way into the truck.  "Thank you.  This was such a good idea," Rodney admits, leaning over for a kiss before John turns the key.

"Oh, it's not over yet!  We've got one more stop."

Rodney knows that they've probably only got half an hour of daylight - at most - left.  "I think it's a little dark to do any more sightseeing."

John grins.  "Oh, we won't need daylight for this next one."

"Why?  Where are we going?"

"You'll see," is John will say.  They drive the short distance back to Citrus Hill, cut across downtown and then through the outskirts of town near Rodney's house.  "Just about there."  John looks over at a dimly lit house and drives slowly for about another half a mile.  "Here we go."  He pulls onto the shoulder and kills the engine, leaving the lights on to cut through the darkness.

Ahead of them, Rodney can just make out the rippling of water.  "Where are we?"

"This here's Miller's pond.  Somebody dug it out a long time ago."  John gets out and stretches, watching as Rodney edges out carefully so as not to wake the snoring hound. He points toward the far end.  "Millers Creek flows in over there.”

"You brought me to a _pond_?"

"Yeah, I did.  It's beautiful this time of night."  John leans against the front bumper, gazing at Rodney in the bright moonlight.  He suddenly tugs him in, raining kisses across Rodney's throat, his face, his lips, and ends up nibbling on Rodney's neck.  After a few minutes, he pulls back.  "Wanna take a dip?"

It takes a beat for Rodney's kiss-addled brain to catch up.  "In _there_?  _Now_?"

"Sure.  Why not?"

"Well, for one thing," Rodney says nervously, intrigued at the thought of John outdoors and naked, but also unsure about – well – about being naked outdoors, "we don't have suits."

John whips off his t-shirt and tosses it on the hood.  He starts unbuttoning his pants, watching Rodney's expression the entire time.  "Anything else?" he teases, letting his pants drop to his knees.

"Umm..."  Rodney knows he's licked, so he starts pulling off his shirt. 

As John (now in boxers only) waits for Rodney to catch up, he decides to make the visit even more interesting.  "You know... There's talk that Ponce de Leòn himself once visited here. Thought Miller's Creek was the fountain of youth."

Rodney stops with his pants halfway down his hips.  "Ponce de-"

"Evenin', boys," somebody calls from right behind the truck.  Neither of them can see the speaker, but when Rodney looks over, he can tell that John isn't worried; he obviously recognizes the voice.

"Good evening, Pastor Warren," John responds.  "We were, uhh..."

"I know what you boys were 'bout to do."  Rodney nods towards the older man, at the same time surreptitiously hitching up his pants.  The pastor touches his hat brim.  "Evenin', Doctor McKay, Mr. Mayor.  Thought I'd come say howdy and bring you boys a coke."

"Thank you, sir."  John takes the offered bottles and hands one to Rodney, making him lose his grip on his pants.  He smirks when he realizes that the preacher brought them Grape Fantas.

"Be on about your business, John.  Do me a favor, though?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Keep yer drawers on."  _This time_ , his tone clearly implies.  He turns and disappears back into the darkness, advising over his shoulder, "Mind the leeches."

" _LEECHES_?!"  Rodney tries to pull his pants up one-handed while quickly backing away from the water's edge, and ends up hopping on one leg as his balance tries to desert him.

"He's just messin' with you, Rodney," John laughs, putting out a hand to steady him.  Rodney flinches hard at the unexpected touch and topples over onto the wet ground, his shoulder digging deep into the muck and soda rolling into the pond.  "Well you _gotta_ go in the water now, Rodney.  You're not draggin' all that mud into _my_ truck!"

~*~*~

_Rodney's surprised to find himself in his childhood home, complete with screaming parents in the next room.  A five-year-old Jeannie grabs his hand.  "Come **on** Mer!  Let's go!"  He follows his sister into the backyard without question and lets her seat him at a diminutive table._

_"Tea?"  Not waiting for a response, she tips her plastic teapot and pours imaginary tea in his cup.  She exchanges the pot for a tray.  "Biscuit?"  He refuses the yellow-frosted cookies, making Jeannie cry.  He tries to explain why he can't, but she shudders as her sobs get louder.  Resignedly, Rodney takes one, pulling an EpiPen from his pants pocket at the same time.  He takes a bite of the evil lemon wafer and immediately feels his throat start to close._

_His thrashing shakes both the deadly pastry and EpiPen from his grasp.  He can feel his airway constricting and starts to panic, flailing helplessly.  After what seems like an eternity a faraway voice calls, "Rodney...  Rodney!"_

Rodney jolts awake, still gasping.  John's calling out again, pulling at his arm and shaking him.  "Rodney!  You okay?  _Jethro!_ "

Rodney tries to sit up, but a weight holds him down.  He pushes at it, eliciting a low groan from the ancient animal, who'd clambered up in the night and used Rodney's throat as a pillow.  "Off!  _Off_!" John commands, shoving the dog off the bed before turning his attention back to Rodney.  As the click of nails against the hardwood floor recedes, John asks again, "Are you okay?"

Rodney's eyes are huge, darting between John and the doorway.  "He tried to kill me!"

"Awww, Rodney... He wouldn't try to kill you.  He _likes_ you!"  John rolls on top, seeking better traction for his morning erection.  "I like you, too."  After a deep, wet kiss, he continues, "And I'd almost never try to kill you."  This gets him a laugh, until it's cut tragically short by John's thrusting tongue.  His previous panic assuaged, Rodney flips them over.  After a few thrusts, he drags his nails across John's chest, stopping to pinch a nipple and play with the mat of dark hair.

Rodney drops his hand while deepening the kiss, slowly making his way to John's hole and teasing it.  John groans approval in the back of his throat when a fingertip slips inside.

"That okay?" Rodney asks, breath coming faster.

John moans and wraps his legs around Rodney.  He breaks the kiss to ask, "You wanna fuck me?"

Rodney's voice fails and all he can produce for the naked man beneath him is a whimper.  John grabs another kiss before trying to reach the lube and condoms in the bedside table.

"I'll get it, I'll get it," Rodney says, almost mesmerized by all the golden skin under him.  He crawls across John's side of the bed, careful not to plant a knee anywhere sensitive.  John kicks the blankets to the floor while eyeing Rodney's backside.  Unable to resist, he lunges to sink his teeth into a delectable cheek, laughing as Rodney yelps, loses his balance, and faceplants into the mattress.

Rodney lays very still for a moment, before groaning as he rises on all fours to complete his mission.  He grabs the lube and condom and winces as he drops them on John's pillow, "I think my dick is _broken_!"

"Aawwww," John sympathizes, bestowing a gentle stroke on the injured member.  "That better?"  He urges Rodney to lie down and kneels to take the throbbing cock in hand.  He focuses on Rodney's expression, finally breaking their connection by closing his eyes as he licks the foreskin in preparation for sliding the entire length down his throat.

Rodney buries his hands in John's hair as he unconsciously thrusts into the incredible heat, whimpering all the while.  Over and over, John sends him wave after intense wave of ecstasy.  John quickly learns what makes Rodney tremble (licking, nibbling, and sucking), urging him ever closer with his mouth. 

John pulls off just as the orgasm start to bubble up, letting Rodney's cock flick back against his stomach.  He quiets Rodney's protests by sliding up to kiss him, fumbling with the supplies at the same time.  John relinquishes Rodney's mouth just long enough to deal with the slippery foil wrapper before diving back in, while his nimble fingers roll the condom down Rodney's dick, petting and teasing as he goes.

Rodney is too lost in pleasure to notice John liberally lubricating his own ass.  He opens his eyes when John climbs up to straddle him.  Putting his hands on John's shoulders to help steady him, he feels his tip push past the ring of muscle.  He slides his hands down to explore while John adjusts to the sensation, pulling at a nipple when John's eyes drift shut.  John leans back with a groan, taking in the full length and re-opening his eyes only when it hits his prostate.

John starts an easy rhythm, letting the cock fill him slowly as it moves closer to its target.  After a few minutes, Rodney starts making short thrusts, earning a hiss with each stroke.  "John..." he moans as his orgasm approaches again.

"Almost there," John intones as if in a trance.  He increases his pace, whimpering, "Oh, god.  Oh, fuck."  As he plunges back, Rodney meets him thrust for thrust, targeting John's prostate.  The sight of John pinching his own nipple with one hand and fondling his balls with the other is hypnotic.  John's breath hitches with each upward thrust, until he lets out a shout that could wake the neighborhood.  John stripes Rodney's chest with come, his cock untouched.

Rodney decides that that was the single hottest thing he's ever seen, much less experienced firsthand.  He throws his head back and plunges into John's ass one last time, throwing himself into a spectacular orgasm.  He comes so hard he sees spots for a good thirty seconds, before a howl from the kitchen hurls him back to reality.  "Fuck..." Rodney complains, snatching a kiss as they catch their breath.  "That dog _totally_ ruined my afterglow."

The pair collapses onto the bed, touching and stroking, chuckling contentedly.  Nails clicking across the floor and breathy, grumbling noises as Jethro settles at the foot of the bed prompt them to get up, clean up, and start thinking about the outside world.  
Once they're presentable and Rodney's brewing his second pot of coffee, the subject of food comes up.  Too indolent to cook, they decide to breakfast at Skeeters, where they'll make a plan for the rest of the day.

~*~*~

They enter the restaurant to a chorus of greetings and hoots, and bask in the warm congeniality of the Sunday morning crowd.  They settle in a booth, and Skeeter brings a pot of coffee (which Rodney eyes like it's his sole property).

John orders his usual breakfast, and nods approvingly when Rodney gives the menu a quick glance before smiling at Skeeter and saying, "Ditto."  After draining his first cup of coffee, Rodney asks, "So what are we doing today?"

John smiles and winks saucily, making Rodney blush to the tips of his ears.  He squeezes Rodney's hand and suggests, "The Alachua County Spring Carnival is in full swing.  We could go check it out."

Rodney considers:  crowds and dirt and possible safety issues involving mechanics with too few teeth versus carnival food.  He decides that fresh carny cotton candy, kettle corn and caramel apples outweigh all other considerations.  "What's it like?"

"It's cool.  They've got a lot of rides, including one of the biggest Ferris wheels this side of the Mississippi."  John laughs at the impatient noise Rodney's stomach lets out.  "And all the midway food you could want."  John leans across the table and strokes the back of Rodney's hand with his thumb.  "They've even got a Tunnel of Love..."

Rodney is smiling down at their hands when a sneering voice cuts through the low hum of the restaurant.  The harshly spit _“Faggots!”_ hangs in the air, bringing the entire restaurant to a grinding halt; half the patrons watch John and Rodney and the rest focus on a scowling middle-aged man in coveralls seated at the counter.

John half rises, but subsides at the sight of Miss Melanie stamping her foot against the floor tiles.  She’d walked in just as the insult was hurled, and hasn't even had time to completely unpin her Sunday-go-to-meeting hat.  She strides over and grabs the offender's ear between arthritic (but exceedingly strong) fingers.  "Christopher Delmar Jacob Stonewall!" she exclaims while hauling him to his feet with a flick of her wrist.  Rodney watches in astonishment as Skeeter's mother casually manhandles the cretin.

Though he stands good two feet taller than the tiny woman, the man's surly attitude instantly changes to that of a whipped cur.  Melanie drags him by the ear to John and Rodney's booth, never taking her eyes off him (thus missing Rodney's panicked look).  "Do you _know_ who this is?" Miss Melanie demands as she jams her purse into her prisoner's stomach, forcing him to hold it while she attempts to one-handedly right her half-pinned hat, knocked askew by the towing process. 

"Yes, ma'am," comes the meek reply. 

"And who is it?"

"John Sheppard, ma'am."  A twist to his ear prompts elaboration, a squeaked, "Mayor Sheppard, ma'am."

She gestures at Rodney, who looks horrified by the public spectacle.  "And who is this?"

After another tug on his ear, Christopher admits, "I don't know his name," quickly adding, "ma'am," to prevent another painful cue-via-earlobe.

"This man," Miss Melanie says, futilely fiddling with her hat, "is **Doctor** Rodney McKay.  He is Mayor Sheppard's gentleman friend.  Dr. McKay, let me introduce you to Christopher Stonewall, who seems to have forgotten his manners.  Do you have anything to say, Christopher?"

Christopher sighs in defeat.  "Mister Mayor, Dr. McKay?  Please accept my apologies."  After a pause (in which she delivers a final vigorous tweak to his now extremely red and slightly swollen ear), he continues, "What I said was inappropriate.  It was ungentlemanly, and not the Southern thing to do.  Please forgive my lack of manners."

John and Rodney nod their acceptance.  John's holding his head to one side and grimacing, leading Rodney to theorize that _he_ must have been on the receiving end of at least one ear-oriented correction session in his youth.  Releasing her grip on the miscreant's ear, Miss Melanie calls to the back, "Skeeter, please pack up Mr. Stonewall's breakfast."  Christopher looks at her in puzzlement.  "We're gonna go to your Momma's and sit down for a little chat."

His shoulders slumping, Christopher pulls out his wallet and pays for his order, quickly offering Miss Melanie his arm when she clears her throat meaningfully.  After a final attempt to straighten her hat, she gives up and removes it, gripping his elbow firmly and announcing, "Tomorrow, you're taking me to Miss Mavis' beauty parlor, _and_ paying for my wash and set."  John and Rodney hear Miss Melanie start a lecture on Southern hospitality as the pair exits, while the rest of the highly entertained patrons get back to their food.

~*~*~

A toddler's squeal breaks into their conversation as they finish up their breakfast.  John grins as JoeJoe runs full-bore through the restaurant, his mother several steps behind him.  The tot makes a beeline for their booth, clambering up on Rodney's side and jumping into his lap with the energy only small children can produce.

Rodney looks worriedly at the tiny neon green sneakers bouncing dangerously close to his nether regions.  "Umm... Hello?"

" _Hi_!" JoeJoe thrusts a dandelion in full bloom in Rodney's face, roots and dirt still dangling from the squished stem.  He's forced to jerk back to avoid getting any in his mouth.  JoeJoe pushes the offering at him again and is scooped up by his mother, moments too late to prevent him smashing one of Rodney's testicles while he tries to scale him like Kilimanjaro.  She thwarts an angry squeal by tickling his midsection, and turns her attention to Rodney. 

Rodney, red-faced, is canted to the left, hands firmly clasped over his injured bits.  "I'm _so_ sorry, Doctor McKay," Bernice apologizes.  "You know how toddlers are..."

John tries to keep a straight face, but loses it when Rodney shoots him a glare that promises revenge, his donkey bray filling the restaurant.  Rodney sits up straighter and attempts a kick under the table, but misses.  He smiles hesitantly and lies without qualm, "It's okay."

"JoeJoe?  What do we say?"

The little boy leans over and messily brushes a kiss into McKay's hair, declaring, "I sorry," in the sweetest voice he has.  He again offers the flower to Rodney, who takes it with a smile.

Rodney makes a show of dramatically smelling the flower.  "Thank you _very much_ , JoeJoe," he says.

"What are you two getting up to today?" John asks, attention drawn to the entrance where his assistant Laura is being raucously welcomed by the crowd.

"Laura and I were going to take the little one out to the fairgrounds."

"Well, now," John says, scooting out of the booth.  "We were just making plans to go over there ourselves."

~*~*~

The drive to southeast Alachua County is quiet.  John smiles at Rodney slipping a piece of toast to Jethro, once again riding in the footwell.  Every time John rests his hand Rodney's thigh, he's tempted to direct the truck onto some dead-end road and perform dirty, dirty acts on Rodney's person that could get them arrested.  They share lazy grins as they pull into the fairground parking lot.

The smell of grease and corndogs permeates the air as they exit the truck.  Rodney coaxes Jethro out onto the soft grass.  John heads toward the back to fix the dog bed, but Rodney snaps on the leash and smiles, like taking him along is the only option.  They pay the skinny youth at the gate to stamp their hands, pausing to assess their options.

"Where to first?" John asks, before seeing that Rodney and Jethro are already steaming toward the concession area.  Smirking, John jogs to catch up.  The ancient dog is matching Rodney's pace, probably with the same goal - the funnel-cake stand.  John looks askance at Rodney as they approach the booth, "We _just_ had breakfast, McKay."

"Oh, no.  No, no, no, no, no, no, no."  Rodney points at the sign – no words, just pictures of food and prices - his face lit up like a child's.  " _This_ doesn't count."  He hands over the leash, digging for his wallet and ordering, "Three, please!" in a chipper voice.  John can't help but grin maniacally.  He likes it when Rodney shows his carefree side.

"Three?"

"Well, you know."  Rodney glances at Jethro, who’s sitting primly at attention, staying on his best behavior even while they laugh at his hopeful expression.

Rodney hands the first fried and powdered sugar-sprinkled cake to John and starts feeding bits off the second to Jethro, forcing John to juggle the last one the vendor hands over.  "Don't give him an upset stomach," John warns as Rodney pulls off an impossibly large piece for himself.  "I don't want him, or _you_ , throwing up in my truck."

"La I uh hrow uh ee yer uck," Rodney garbles through his mouthful.  After another bite each for Jethro and himself, he points over at the [Round Up](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Round_Up_\(amusement_ride\)).  "Anyway, _that's_ where you're supposed to hurl," he says as they join the crowd streaming towards the rides.

John insists on going on the Ferris wheel between sessions on the other attractions, each time parking Jethro with an acquaintance in line.  Since leaving the food area, they've run into at least three dozen people John knows, or who know him.  After their third airborne go-around (where Rodney threatened to vomit _on him_ if he rocked the car _one more time_ ), they take a break and wander down a stall-filled aisle.

As they pass the fortuneteller's gaudy tent, a man with a bright smile and all-American good looks jogs up and pulls John into an unexpected hug.  "Sheppard!  Man, it's been a while."

It takes John a moment to get his bearings as he pulls out of the embrace.  "Evan?  Wow.  Where's your uniform?"

"Finally bailed.  Told the Air Force I was through, and retired."  Evan looks at Sheppard, over to Rodney and back again, arching his eyebrows pointedly.

"Oh, sorry," John manages finally.  "Major Evan Lorne?  Dr. Rodney McKay.  We served together in the Air Force years and years ago.  Rodney?  Evan Lorne."  The two shake hands while John throws an arm around Rodney.  "Rodney's my, uh... My boyfriend."

John and Rodney have internal freak-outs that lasts a combined 437 milliseconds, caused by one of them finally defining their relationship as more than something casual.    

"I _knew_ it," Evan crows, cutting short Rodney's incipient hyperventilating.  "David owes me twenty bucks and a position to be named later."  John and Rodney gape at Lorne in confusion.  "Let's just say that David doesn't have good gaydar - and I do."

"So..." John asks, "you kept in contact with David?"  He turns to Rodney.  "David's a - what?  A biologist?"

Evan shakes his head.  "Botanist.  And, yeah, you might say we kept in touch.  He's the reason I retired."  He flashes his ring finger, making John curse his own nonfunctioning gaydar.  “I couldn't stand hiding it.  Hiding him.  Got my discharge papers and bought two tickets to Toronto where his mother lives.  We were married three days later."  Lorne's eyes twinkle at the memory of their whirlwind wedding planning.

Rodney smiles, feeling less uneasy about the stunningly handsome Evan having hugged John so vigorously. 

John suddenly turns to Rodney and blurts, "Hey, _you're_ Canadian!  We can get married there!"  The three men freeze at the unexpected words.

"John Sheppard!" Rodney reproaches, almost managing to seem indignant.  "You did _not_ just propose to me - **ON ACCIDENT** \- in the middle of a county fair reeking of grease and manure, not to mention port-a-potties!"  Unmoved by John's enormous smile, he flaps Jethro's leash and continues, "Also, I  refuse to be proposed to with this _decrepit beast_ wheezing at my feet.  Jesus.  I expect a fancy restaurant - _Skeeters doesn't qualify_ \- and you on one knee.  With a ring.  And other romance stuff.  I want the whole works, or it's no deal!"  It's the most Rodney's said about their relationship since they started it.  (It's also a damn lie.  If John asked for his hand in a muddy, stinking pigsty, the answer would still be "Yes".)

John rubs the back of his neck in a nervous tic that crops up in highly dangerous situations (like those calling for an emotional response).  "I have one question."

"Yes?"

Lorne watches like it's the best tennis match ever, moving only his eyes in an effort to not draw attention to himself.

"I can wear jeans on that date, right?"

Rodney's answer is a kiss to the corner of John's mouth, followed by a swift dope-slap upside the head.  Unable to resist the resulting pout, he concedes, "Yes, yes, you blundering idiot, you can wear jeans."  Letting him wear jeans is a suitable reward for being the first to define their relationship despite his emotional awkwardness, even if the _not-wearing_ of jeans would be a greater gift for the pair of them.

Breaking into the couple's reverie, Evan announces, "I should go find David.  He got roped into the vegetable judging.  It was nice meeting you, Rodney."

"Nice meeting you, too."

They shake hands, and Evan starts to leave, but stops in mid-turn.  "Hey.  We've got a nice little spread up in Lake City.  You should drive up and join us for the weekend sometime."

John asks, "You still got that pretty little Cessna 172?"

"Always ready to fly, Major," Lorne replied with a casual salute.

"Cool," John says, flashing a grin so large that Rodney knows John has been _yearning_ to fly.  "We'll be there.  Call the Citrus Hill Mayor's Office, and we'll work out the details."

~*~*~

Twenty minutes later, they run across Laura Cadman, Bernice, and little JoeJoe, who demands that Rodney pick him up, which he does without hesitation (to the amazement of everyone but JoeJoe).  At John's questioning look, Rodney arranges JoeJoe on his shoulders and says, "I'm just making sure he doesn't...  You know."

"What?" John asks.

Rodney leans in and whispers, "Damage the goods again," gesturing downward with an elbow.

After cotton candy and onion rings -- "These don't count as a ring, Sheppard," Rodney declares as he takes two and hands one to the little boy using his hair to steer, making John blush and the ladies laugh after the situation is explained -- and another ride on the Ferris wheel, Bernice collects a sleepy JoeJoe and bids the fairgoers adieu.  With Laura still in tow, John asks, "So where to now?"

"There's the Tunnel of Love," Laura suggests, stretching "love" to about 17 syllables.

"Ooh!  Funhouse!" Rodney says in hopes of derailing her, striding away.  He's playing in front of the wavy mirrors before John and Laura can catch up to him.  John appears behind Rodney, who's standing with hands on his belly and critical eyes assessing as he looks at a distorted, unflattering image of himself.

"What?" John asks, slipping his arms around Rodney and planting his chin on one shoulder.

Rodney stops sucking in, then sticks out his belly and drops his hands to his sides.  "Nothing," he sighs, voice betraying his insecurities even as his hands reach back to grope John's lean runner's frame.  

John pulls Rodney flush against him and plants a quick kiss on his neck.  He takes Rodney's hand and guides them further into the funhouse, following Laura.  After making their way through a darkened area festooned with fake spider webs and full of eerie music and noises, and another with multicolored strobes flashing over a herky-jerky sidewalk, the trio makes their way into the Hall of Confusion.

"This is _so_ cool," John says, dropping Rodney's hand and bearing left.

Rodney tries to follow, but a slight turn in the maze of mirrors and deceptive clear sections runs him smack into Cadman.  They both step right, left, then right again before Laura leans back, ushering Rodney past her.

"Come on, guys!" John steps from the mirrored room into another darkened hallway.  Instead of footsteps, he hears what sounds like ancient gears grinding, along with a heavy scraping.  He turns back to find a solid-seeming wall keeping him from reentering the maze.  "Rodney?  Laura?" he calls, knocking on the panel.

"Coming," Rodney responds, though John then hears the thud of someone (Rodney) walking into a glass panel masquerading as a walkway.  "Where's the exit?"

"It's over here," Laura says, while Rodney runs into three more walls as he tries to make his way across the space.

"Where?"

"It's here."  Thud.  "Well, I _thought_ it was here."

John bangs on the stubborn panel.  "It's over here but I think they locked you in." Through the wall he hears Laura and Rodney cautiously tapping, searching for hidden levers or buttons.

"Locked us in?" Rodney calls back, overlapping Laura's cry of, "Oh god, no.  This can't be happening."

Rodney turns to Cadman, poking to make sure she's flesh and bone, and not the cold glass of a mirror.  She flinches and shoves his finger away.  "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, McKay," Laura says as she examines the mirror by touch, seeking an edge to pull or pry.

Rodney draws back, crossing his arms over his chest and aiming an irked look at the woman.  It's clear he's not going to drop the subject, so she stops searching and mirrors his stance.  "Let me put it this way.  Do _you_ want to be stuck in a small room with _your boss's boyfriend_ instead of your own?"

He considers it briefly before his posture relaxes.  "I guess not."

"Right."  Laura pounds on the mirrored wall.  "LET US _OUT_!"

"Jesus!  You don't have to _scream_!" Rodney scolds, jiggling a finger against each ear in hopes of lessening the ringing.  "It's like you're howling from inside my skull."

"FFA hog calling champion three years in a row," she says proudly.

"Your parents must be _so_ thrilled," Rodney deadpans, getting a punch in the arm for his sarcasm.  "So, who _are_ you dating?"

"No one you know," she counters, just as the door opens to reveal John with his arms crossed tightly.  " _Finally_."

"Is it anyone _I_ know?" John asks, stretching a hand past his assistant to pat Rodney's arm reassuringly.

"Well..."  Laura looks between them shiftily before eeling past and making for the exit at the other end of the dim hall.

"You're not getting off that easy," John calls after her.  "I know where you work!"

" _Fine_.  You know him." She rolls her eyes at John's 'more' hand gesture, but continues, "He's a professor at the U.  He teaches history."

"No..." John starts.

"Yes.  I'm dating Ronon Dex."

It's the biggest grin to grace John's face in a long time.  (Not exactly true.  There'd been a whole flock of them this morning, with Rodney.  But counting only events suitable for public consumption?  It's the clear winner.)  "Why didn't you tell me?" John demands.

Feeling like he's stuck in a foreign-language dream, Rodney asks, "Who's Ronon Dex?"

Laura throws her hands up in frustration.  "Because I _knew_ this would be your reaction."

Rodney, still lost, repeats, "Who is Ronon Dex?"

It's John's turn to look frustrated.  "Ronon Dex?  2000 Heisman trophy winner?  Single-handedly carried the Gators to the national championship?"  Rodney shrugs at each statement.  "I _gotta_ get you to watch football with me."

"Not as long as there's hockey, you won't," Rodney sweetly replies with an insincere smile.

John rolls his eyes, turning his attention back to Laura.  "So..."

" ** _No_**!"  Don't even ask me, John!"

"What?" John asks, putting on his most angelic face.  He can only sustain it for a few seconds before he cracks.  "Come _on_!"

"No," Laura responds firmly.  "You are _not_ going to pester him!"  She strides out of the funhouse and back into daylight with John and Rodney hot on her heels.  "He's a college professor now.  His football days are behind him."

John considers pouting, but decides against it when Rodney leans in to whisper that they can call the University and invite Dex (‘and Cadman, I guess’) to dinner.  John beams and steals a kiss.  "I'm dating the smartest man in the galaxy," he declares, pinching Rodney's ass as they circle the funhouse to collect Jethro.

As the shadows lengthen across the midway, John and Rodney make their way back towards the entrance, exchanging goodbyes with all the people John (and now Rodney) knows.  "You want anything before we leave?" John asks.

Rodney points out a donut stand they haven't hit yet.  "Sustenance."

John shakes his head fondly.  "I'll be over here," he says, already halfway to a cluster of games-of-chance booths across the way.  Rodney sidles up to John a few minutes later, gripping his bag of glazed, and watches his attempts to knock down a pyramid of milk bottles.  John is only taking out a couple at a time until Rodney leans in and whispers, "It's simple physics.  Aim for the bottom bottles."

John hurls the ball as directed, collapsing the whole stack with one shot.  He whispers proudly, "Smartest man in the galaxy," as the barker tells him to pick his prize.  Rodney munches on a donut as John takes his time.  Finally, he leans over the counter and snags the ugliest, most cockeyed goldfish in the bunch, presenting it to Rodney with a flourish.  "Gee, thanks, Sheppard," he says wryly, examining the probable mutant.  "What'd I do to deserve _this_?"

"Nothin'," John admits, guiding Rodney back to the walkway.  "Just, you know..."  He lifts the leash, "The Pembertons'll be back soon.  Thought I'd get you a pet of your own."

Rodney looks through the plastic at the bugeyes staring back.  "Well at least this one won't try to suffocate me."  A few steps later he gestures with the fish bag and announces, "By the way, Sheppard?  Right color this time - still not a ring."

~*~*~

The ride back to Citrus Hill is filled with Jethro's soft snoring playing counterpoint to the humming tires.  Rodney falls asleep on the window, leaving John to his thoughts. 

Rodney rouses as they pull to a stop in his driveway.  "We're here?" Rodney asks through a jaw-cracking yawn.  They head inside and settle Jethro in the kitchen.  John grabs a beer and walks out to the living room, where Rodney's already deeply immersed in his email. 

A blinking light on Rodney's answering machine catches his eye as he settles into the couch.  He says, "Looks like you've got a message," popping the top and taking a long pull.

"Who the hell _calls_ me?" Rodney wonders, one hand shooting out to hit Play without missing a beat in the response he's typing.  After five seconds of static, a woman's voice fills the room.

"Rodney?  _Rodney_?  Are you there?  Pick up!  This is Elizabeth.  Radek needs you in Atlantis as soon as possible.  The Daedalus is in orbit, so use your remote and they'll --"  As soon as Rodney hears 'Atlantis' he starts mashing buttons in a desperate, initially useless attempt to silence the indiscreet message.  He can feel eyes on him, and looks up to see John staring, his forgotten beer poised in mid-air.

Neither one utters a word for a long moment.  John doesn't know what to ask first and Rodney is searching for an excuse he can give.  Finally, John speaks, though full sentences are beyond him just yet.  "Atlantis?  Urgent?  _Orbit_?"  Another pause stretches uncomfortably until John demands, "Rodney?  What's going on?"

Rodney fumbles with the phone, pulling Elizabeth's number out of his wallet.  "I'll explain," he says, dialing.  "Wait.  I mean… I _can't_ explain.  Not that I don't want to - I just can't."  He keeps stammering excuses, none of which satisfy John's curiosity.  He breaks off when a voice comes on the line.

"Weir."

"Elizabeth, it's-"

"Oh, Rodney, thank god.  The Corporal found you, then?  Where are you?  No, never mind that.  I need you in Atlantis right away."  Rodney hears Elizabeth addressing someone on her end, "Colonel Caldwell?  I've got Rodney."  She comes back on the line and asks, "Rodney, are you at home?  Is the Marine there?"

"Yes, I am, but the Marine is--"

Elizabeth, having only registered his 'Yes', keys the radio again.  "He's at home, Caldwell.  Beam them aboard the Daedalus and down to the SGC.  We have to get him to Atlantis as soon as possible."

Rodney pales as he clutches the phone, still calling her name to get her attention.  John jumps up, almost losing his beer.  "Rodney?  _Rodney_ , what's wrong?" 

The room fades around John, followed by a peculiar twisting (shifting? tugging?) sensation.  When reality settles back down he's in a control room of some sort, with the distinct rumble of engines in the background.  He quickly scans the area for potential danger, his beer bottle hitting the floor a second after he sees stars through the window.  **Through the _window_**.  No, wait - it must be a huge monitor of some kind.  "Rodney, what the hell is--"

" _McKay_!"

They spin to face an Air Force officer seated in a chunky, almost throne-like, chair.  "Sam?"

"Yes, McKay, _Sam_."  The Colonel points at John.  "And who the hell is this?"  Beyond the command chairs, the communications officer reports into her mike, "We have the package.  Preparing for delivery."  Sam turns and snaps, "Belay that order."

"Yes, Sir!"

Carter stalks toward the pair, ordering, "Stand down," to an officer who has his sidearm half-drawn.  "Rodney, who _is_ this?  Where's the Marine we sent?"

"I was _trying_ to tell her – there was no Marine.  This is, is..."  Rodney stammers for a moment before pulling John closer and announcing, "This is my boyfriend, John Sheppard.  John, this is Colonel Samantha Carter."

John fights the urge to salute for the second time in one day.  He gets his whole question out this time, but his "What the hell is going on here?" is drowned out by Sam's incredulous, " _Boyfriend_?!"  John shoots her a 'Want to make something of it?' look, his military-trained senses buzzing with the need to protect Rodney.

Carter visibly gathers her composure.  "Well, okay.  Rodney, you need to beam down to the SGC so you can gate to Atlantis.  Mr. Sheppard, is it?  You'll be staying here."

"The _hell_ he will," Rodney replies.  "He goes with me."

" _Rodney_ ," Sam explains in an irritatingly patient tone, "you're needed in Atlantis right away and we have to debrief him before we can send him back to Earth."

That's when John realizes that the "monitor" is, in fact, a window.  A window showing a planet mostly covered by blue ocean, with brownish-black landmasses.  Clouds obscure most of the visible land, making it impossible to identify which segment of Earth he's looking at.  "Oh, crap," the only comment he can muster as he pulls Rodney in close.  



End file.
